Woolgathering
by CaptScarlett
Summary: Scarlett and Melanie enlist the help of their men for a little charitable endeavour. One rises to the occasion, the other does not. Warning: Ashley-bashing and bad puns abound! Sunny Funny ficathon entry.


Ashley Wilkes was a gentleman, born and bred to be a gentleman, so what he was doing and where his hands were at wasn't very gentlemanly at all.

Not only was he trapped in a sexless marriage but his wife appeared lately bent on turning him into one of her woman friends, instead of leaving him to his steadfastly male pursuits of reading poetry and hammering his thumb whenever prevailed upon to mend something in their little Ivy Street home.

His long elegant fingers, designed for leafing through the dusty old volumes in his father's library or writing stories of his own seemed ideal for this particular - dare he call it effeminate? - purpose. Yet to his ever-increasing frustration he just wasn't able to manage.

And to add to his chagrin Captain Butler, who along with Scarlett was his dinner guest this evening, appeared to be acquitting himself more than adequately. In fact he was well into the spirit of things and enjoying himself heartily among the ladies. However the main source of this pleasure, Ashley suspected, was his own inability to master this simple task.

The members of the Ladies' Sewing Circle for the Widows and Orphans of the Confederacy had recently decided it was their duty to expand their charitable undertakings to include knitting. With the bitter chill of winter only months away, making blankets with the yarn of unravelled woollen items no longer fit for use seemed just the ticket. Melanie Wilkes, as reluctant head of the group was leading by example and encouraging every available pair of capable hands to help further the endeavour.

When the ladies half-jokingly suggested their men join in and do their bit for such a worthy cause, Ashley had initially been hesitant.

As he wavered, he'd briefly wondered if his willingness to engage in such a ladylike pursuit might diminish his esteem in Scarlett's eyes, or build him up as a man who could put aside any notion of this type of activity being unfit for a gentleman, and perform it regardless for the benefit of those less fortunate.

However when Butler allowed himself to be so easily cajoled into joining the 'fun' by the quietly persuasive Melanie, Ashley in his surprise and reluctance to be the only one not participating, had quickly agreed as well.

If her husband was man enough to pick up some yarn and a pair of needles then goddamn it, so was he!

It would be a way to show up Rhett Butler for once, for surely a man with such powerful, masculine hands - for that they certainly were - couldn't possibly surpass Ashley at something requiring good fine motor function.

Not that Rhett would have been in the slightest bit concerned were he unable to knit and Ashley could. He could simply dismiss it for the womanish activity is was and add weight to his opinion that Wilkes was less of a man than he. Unfortunately, judging from the stifled laughs that drifted his way, the converse appeared to be true as well. The man sitting opposite was currently proving himself more than capable of rising to the occasion, while Ashley, as usual, was not.

He'd watched Melly perform this task on countless occasions and so help him he'd assumed it would be easy! _Focus_, he willed himself, feeling eyes upon him as he fumbled with the wool. Was Scarlett looking? He snuck a peek in her direction and discovered she was not.

Ashley had a nagging suspicion he was no longer the sole object of her affections, and as time went by and the more he saw of Scarlett, the more convinced he was becoming of the fact. That fawning hero-worship demeanour that had clung to her for years whenever he was around was all but gone now, and although he didn't want to be the focus of her obsession, he had always on some level enjoyed the attention she bestowed on him.

And what he was currently attempting, coupled with certain other incidents of late, was doing nothing to help restore his image in her mind as the epitome what a gentleman should be.

Not only had Scarlett recently discovered him in an apron in the kitchen helping his wife by piping dainty dollops of icing atop the Wilkes contribution to the church bake sale - from the look on her face he was fairly certain _her _husband had never set foot in their kitchen let alone baked anything - but the following fortnight another nail was hammered into his coffin. The flower arranging debacle. Ashley shuddered involuntarily at the memory.

The town was holding its annual summer bazaar, the third since the end of the war. In addition to the homemade jams, baked goods, seasonal vegetables and ladies' handiwork submitted for judging and subsequent sale or donation to the local orphanage, were the flowers. And in the spirit of fun there was an inaugural category reserved for men only, and the opportunity for the good women of Atlanta to bully their spouses into entering an arrangement in aid of the charitable cause they all supported.

Scarlett was going to convince her husband to participate, Melly assured him, so Ashley, against his better judgment, had allowed his wife to persuade him. Once committed he started to enjoy the process of selecting his blooms and arranging them into an attractive design. He even enlisted Beau's help by sending him scurrying through the hedge at the bottom of the garden to sneak his father a few of great aunt Pittypat's prize roses.

It was therefore an unpleasant, if not _entirely _unexpected, surprise for Mr Wilkes to find his beautiful display, for yes he was proud of his work, was the sole entry in the 'Men Only' competition.

It made more than just his daisies droop.

"I ran out of two of life's most precious commodities," said Rhett Butler when he appeared apologetic before of a wrathful Mrs Merriweather. "Time and ideas."

The presence of Bonnie in his embrace, giggling happily and holding her chubby little arms out to the old dragon (had they practised this in advance?) had been enough to secure him nothing more than a polite telling off.

The ladies of the committee made a fuss of course. They flattered Ashley's artistry - clearly _their _men didn't possess his skills or bravery to take part in such an event - and made him blush and wish to be anywhere but where he was. They'd even presented him with a well-deserved blue rosette as reward for his efforts.

But then that Butler man had grinned, purchased his floral arrangement for an obscene amount of money and whisked it home to put on display for the party Scarlett would be hosting the following evening.

And Ashley couldn't help but feel he was a laughing stock. There was no reason for the emotion, he assured himself. It wasn't as if his amateur effort would be given pride of place in the centre of the dinner table, serving as some sort of absurd conversation piece. At least he hoped not. Certainly none of the respectable townsfolk would be making fun of him - their guests would likely be a passel of Carpetbaggers anyway so he oughtn't care - but somehow the incident left him feeling naked and exposed nonetheless.

And now he was playing host to the man in his home once more.

He looked across the room to where his guests sat. Scarlett was supervising her husband's work - how had he managed two inches already? - and giggling. Rhett had just leaned over and whispered something in her ear.

They seemed more friendly of late, like the ice that had formed so quickly between them after Bonnie's birth was now melting just as rapidly. He wondered if they were once more sharing a bed, if Scarlett let him touch her with those strong manly hands of his- Clearly something had transpired recently to start to put right what last year had gone so very wrong.

Ashley didn't like it. He knew he ought to wish her happy, but he was jealous. He liked it when she made doe eyes at him, liked it when her husband scowled at him with barely concealed hatred. It gave him, mixed in with the small dose of fear, a certain feeling of power over Rhett Butler.

"Ashley, darling, you're dropping stitches," came Melly's gentle reproach pulling him back to reality.

"Sorry Melly," he mumbled and tried to concentrate on his work.

Squares.

That was all they were knitting. Simple squares of equal dimensions to be sewn together at a later date into a cheerful blanket. Plain stitch, no changing colours, no increasing or decreasing. The ladies had even cast on the stitches for them. All he needed to do was poke his needle through the hole - he jerked his mind away as it had drifted back to the man sitting opposite; dear Lord the army did strange things to a fellow! - hook the yarn over, pull it through and loop it off.

Simple.

His knitting wasn't the only thing that was unravelling in Ashley's life. He couldn't run a business, he knew he was squandering Scarlett's hard-earned money at the mills, and as her affection for him continued to diminish, so she was becoming less tolerant or forgiving of his mistakes.

Ashley looked down at the tangle between his fingers. It was hopeless. He was a pupil in a lesson he just wasn't quite able to comprehend while all around him excelled in their task and it left him embarrassed and humiliated. There was no escaping the feeling.

It reminded him of when he'd been discovered with his hands in his school friend Louis' sister's underwear drawer at the age of twelve. Or during the war when he'd been caught with his hands in his own drawers, fighting a very personal battle against the army of lice that had set up camp there. Or when Melly'd caught him in a similarly compromising position, only scratching a very different kind of itch-

"Ashley!" From her tone this was not the first time his wife had tried to attract his attention.

"Sorry my dear, what were you saying?" he managed to choke out.

Both Butler's were smirking. Melly reached over to him and giving him that gently indulgent smile a mother bestows on a errant child, retrieved the mess from his incapable hands. Ashley managed to smile sheepishly back.

"It's getting late," said Rhett putting his work down on the small side table and standing up. "We ought to be getting home." He held out a hand to Scarlett and helped her to her feet. "Supper was delicious Miss Melly, thank you."

She blushed at the compliment, despite knowing they were used to much grander fare at home than the modest meal they'd shared here tonight.

"Yes, Melly, we've had such a lovely evening," agreed Scarlett as they made their way to the front door. Rhett retrieved his hat and coat and helped Scarlett on with her wrap.

"And you, Ashley," she cooed, turning her attention to him and beaming attractively. "You spun us some excellent yarns tonight. In fact you've had me in stitches most of the evening."

"Oh, but I didn't tell any jo-"

He regretted it the moment the words left his lips and his brain deigned to catch up. He arranged his face into something resembling an uncomfortable smile and laughed weakly.

"Stop needling the poor man Scarlett, and come along before we're never invited back." said Rhett, tipping his hat to them before pulling her out onto the porch. She snickered at her husband's witticism, then allowed him to turn her and escort her giggling down the front path.

"I think perhaps Scarlett's had a little too much wine tonight," said Melanie waving as they exited the front gate and turned up the street for home. Their laughter was loud in the still night air. When her guests were out of sight, she closed the door and turned to face her husband, a slight frown pinching her features. "Ashley, is everything all right?"

"Of course Melly, why do you ask?"

"There's no use trying to pull the wool over my eyes darling, I know you better than that," she teased. When he didn't respond she continued. "Something's wrong, Ashley. You've been distracted all evening. The Butlers had a good time just the same, but you've definitely seemed out of sorts. Perhaps you ought to see the doctor in the morning.

"Melly, I'm perfectly well, there's really nothing to worry about," he assured her.

"You're probably right my dear." Walking past him into the parlour to collect the coffee things, she called over her shoulder as she went, "Dr Meade probably doesn't have anything to cure a case of woolgathering anyway."

FIN.

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**A/N. I hope this amused you, I quiet enjoyed writing it. Btw, the flower thing - based on a true story, thanks Nick. :)**

**Myra's line is the opening one. No other requirements submitted.**

**Thanks for reading.**


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